Unspoken
by Girl with the Yellow Umbrella
Summary: Too many things have gone unsaid between Ron and Hermione, and for far too long. Completely canon, set during Deathly Hallows.


**Disclaimer: Any characters, settings and other references you recognise (including the quotes at the beginning and the end) belong to JKR. I just play with her ideas.**

"Come and dance."

For a moment, Ron Weasley had forgotten what it was like to be embarrassed. He hurried away from the table where Harry sat disguised as cousin Barny, far too busy to even check to see whether she was following him onto the dance floor. The first boy Hermione Granger had ever kissed – an international Quidditch star, no less – had turned up right out of the blue at Bill's wedding. Ron shoved the dancers aside, not particularly paying attention to anything. _Of course Krum had turned up tonight_; _just when he had been starting to think this might have been the night to make his-_

"If we keep going, we'll come off the dance floor completely," Hermione teased, reaching out through the throng of moving bodies to touch his elbow. "Will this do, or were you only pretending you wanted to dance with me?"

She'd followed him! Ron halted. He could feel heat rising up the back of his neck; doubtless, his skin would be blossoming into a beautiful, distinctly _un_manly blush within moments. But he did want to dance with Hermione, more than anything, and for far more reasons than were necessary. Because he wanted to make her laugh; because she looked amazing in that lilac dress; and because he wasn't sure how many more times he could come up with an original excuse to put his arms around her without repeating himself.

Somebody elbowed him in the side, but he barely noticed. He turned back to her, drank in the expression she seemed to reserve just for him: a half-amused, half-hopeless smile, her lips pressed firmly together, her cheeks dimpling around her laughter lines.

"Of course I want to dance with you," Ron muttered toward her elbow, hesitating. Ron hadn't really danced with a girl properly before, and wasn't exactly sure about how he was supposed to proceed.

"Merlin, Ronald. It's not _rocket science_." Hermione rolled her eyes and held out her hands, and he took them with immense relief, daring to glance at her face. She was laughing at him, he was sure of it, but her smile was kind. She was the only person in his entire world who could get away with calling him _Ronald_ without him flinching.

Her fingers slid down his palms, slipping into the spaces between his fingers, knitting their hands together.

"What is rocket science, anyway?" he asked absently, glancing about at the other dancers to see what he should be doing. There were his parents, swaying together across the floor, and closer still, George – or was it Fred? No, he was missing an ear – was wrapped around one of Fleur's Veela cousins. Their bodies were pressed together so closely Ron doubted he could fit a wand between them.

He wanted to dance with Hermione like that too – pull her toward him, quickly so that she'd tumble into his arms and he could catch her and hold her close to him - but that might be too forward. Best stick to hand holding.

Hermione, helpfully, began to move their arms from side to side. She closed her eyes for a minute, tilting her head to the side, listening to the music. Her mouth pressed into a smile; a strand of sleek hair fell across her face, and she took a tiny step toward him, her body beginning to sway.

Ron shifted his weight between his feet, left first, then right. With Hermione guiding his arms as well, to the casual observer it might have looked like Ron Weasley knew what he was doing. At least he hoped so, anyway. He glanced around again, just quickly, to make sure no one was watching. _Really, who was he kidding?_ But his attention was drawn back to Hermione again. He didn't get to see her all made up very often, and if he was honest, Ron wasn't too sure whether this was an entirely bad thing. Hermione was very pretty anyway, and with that stuff on her face … well, it made it very difficult for him to pretend he wasn't completely bonkers for her.

"Oh, I forgot you don't know that one," Hermione was saying.

Ron watched her lips; he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but they were painted a soft, shiny pink, and the shiny bit seemed to stick to itself when her lips came together, like a sticky raspberry lolly… he wondered if she'd taste like raspberries if he just leant forward and… _No_. Pay attention.

"It's…. um…. Well it's a Muggle joke. When something isn't very difficult we say 'It's not rocket science' because rocket science is sending people into Space and that _is_ considered by Muggles to be very … er…. Well, difficult." Hermione was watching his face, scrutinising his reaction.

"I didn't explain that very well, did I?" she murmured apologetically, drawing their arms wide and upwards, away from their bodies. Ron was forced to take a step toward her to compensate; another inch and they'd be nose to nose. His breath caught, and it was a moment before he realised she was expecting an answer.

"Oh, no, I got it…. A Muggle thing… or something," he stammered. _Pathetic, Weasley_.

Hermione smiled that same, sweet smile; that mixture of amusement and hopelessness she reserved all for him.

"Don't look so panicked, Ron."

She released his fingers, only to slip her arms around his neck. Ron noticed, vaguely, that the music had changed; it was slower now; gentle, even. Ron hesitated again, not sure where he was allowed to put his hands. She was staring at him, waiting…

Ron put his hands on her shoulders and began to sway his hips to the music. Shoulders seemed like the safest option, really: nothing remotely dangerous about shoulders.

"Down here, Ron." She gently moved his arms away from her shoulders, pulling them down her body to settle around her waist. Ron gulped, struggling not to think of the way he'd just stroked the smooth, warm skin of her back, or the silky fabric, like liquid cascading down her… er…

"There," Hermione said, placing her arms around his neck once more. "Much better, don't you think?"

Ron nodded, managed a smile, and fought not to think of exactly how close he was to every single gorgeous, bossy bone in her body._ Merlin_, he wanted to kiss her. If he just leaned across (for they really _were_ nose to nose, now)-

"Keep your hands where I can see them, you two," someone interrupted. Fred was beside him with another Veela cousin, grinning wickedly.

Ron felt the heat rising in his cheeks again, but Hermione just laughed and shook her head. Fred danced off with his girl, and for a few moments it was just the two of them. Ron wanted to pull her closer. Her hair smelt like strawberries; he could feel the warmth of her skin through his dress robes. _Definitely something I want to get used to_. His head was spinning, even as he and Hermione rotated around the dance floor. There was a disturbance off to the side, raised voices, but Ron didn't care. He wasn't positive, but it he was starting to suspect that Hermione was making him feel a little giddy. He tightened his arms and begun to feel mildly concerned that he might fall from feeling so ... well ... _brilliant_.

"Oh Ron," Hermione murmured. She was glancing up at him, lips pursed, raising a hand to smooth his forehead... "Really. Just _relax, _please. Stop thinking about him. He didn't mean anything by it."

"I'm perfectly relaxed, Hermione," Ron responded, equally as soft, tucking a smile into the corners of his lips. "Honestly, I wasn't thinking about him at all. I've trained myself to ignore him, mostly."

She was staring up into his eyes, and something in them looked encouraging.

"Good." Her voice was gentle, honest, a little bit shy. "Because you're the only person at this wedding I want to be dancing with - and even if Viktor had've asked, I'd have turned him down anyway."

Ron froze. "_Viktor_?"

Bloody _Krum_. Ron had only just managed to completely forget the bloke existed and here she was, bringing him up again. All her lovely, beautiful distractions were melting away; all Ron could think about were those two enormous eyebrows, knit together in disapproval. The feeling in the pit of his stomach returned again in a rush, niggling at him like a bubotubber pod ready to burst at any second. _She'll never forget him_. _No matter what happens between you two, she'll always wonder what might have happened…_

Hermione looked startled; as if to confirm his deepest suspicions, she said, "Yes, Viktor. Who else did you think I was talking about?"

Ron couldn't help it; he winced. They were completely still, now, clutched in each other's arms in the middle of that _bloody_ dance floor and _everybody_ was there, listening… It was truly the last place in the world Ron wanted to hold this discussion.

"Fred – or… or Harry – or- _Merlin_, I didn't know who you were going on about! _Viktor_?" He shook his head, stared down at their feet, toe to toe, separated only by shoes… _he'd always imagined what it'd be like to sleep beside her, their bare feet entwined…_ admittedly a strange wondering, but now it was physically painful. "I can't believe you're still thinking about him, Hermione, I-"

Ron ran out of words: for what more was there to say?

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Ron watched her, hurt and resigned. After all these years, he could recognise all too well the signs Hermione habitually made when she was about to start an argument with him. First, she'd take a step away, and then, she'd open her eyes. She'd start by glaring, and then her cheeks would flush and her hair would positively _crackle_ with fury…

Hermione tightened her hold around Ron's shoulders and shook her head slightly, eyes still pressed closed. When she opened them again, they were focused squarely on Ron, but much to his surprise he saw neither anger nor frustration; instead, only patience and something he couldn't quite recognise. It could have been sympathy, but that didn't quite fit, either…

"I was talking about earlier, Ron... I thought... but ... Oh, does it really matter?" she sighed. "Anyhow, Ron, _if _you'd been listening to a single word I said, I was clearly telling you that you have nothing to worry about… and that stands, regardless of who we're talking about… Ron?"

_You have nothing to worry about._

Ron's could already feel the anxiety melting out of his veins. He grinned: those were magic words if ever he'd heard them. _Merlin, _he wanted to kiss her again.

It took every ounce of strength Ron possessed to resist that impulse. Instead, finger by finger, he prized his hands from Hermione's waist and took a step backward, bumping into whoever was still dancing behind him.

"Fancy a drink?"

Hermione was grinning at him now, too. Somehow, he had the feeling she could see right through all this pretext, and that gave him hope, because she hadn't run away yet.

"Yeah. That'd be good," she said. "I'll go find Harry, then, shall I?"

Ron nodded, and turned away. He wove his way off the dance floor, resisting the urge to collapse into the nearest chair and clutch his head.

_Bloody woman_. He wondered if Hermione would ever fully comprehend exactly what she put him through, again and again. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost her to somebody else… And now, there she went, running back to Harry, which meant that even when they had the chance to sit down together and properly talk, there wouldn't be anything to say. The conversation Ron most wanted to have with Hermione was one he definitely didn't want his best friend to be privy to.

He should have said something out on the dance floor, too. '_I love you'_ seemed too rash, but perhaps '_You don't have anything to worry about with me, either'_ would have been appropriate. Or, '_You drive me bloody mad, woman._' Yes, that'd fit nicely. All he had to do was find the time to tell her, now. So many things had gone unspoken between them for far too long.

There was a tray of floating drinks just up ahead; Ron moved towards it, absently wondering whether Hermione would prefer a Butterbeer or a glass of Sparkling Elf-Wine… He'd have to find a dark corner of the garden for them to talk. He could always pull her back into the house, maybe even take her up to his room, but that might send the wrong message, and all he really wanted to say was-

But the music had stopped.

There was a series of gasps, and then silence fell on the wedding party. A few guests were rising from their seats; someone pointed towards the middle of the tent, and Ron spun.

A silvery creature had settled in the centre of the dance floor, where only minutes ago he'd held Hermione in his arms. Astonished dancers were frozen mid-step around what appeared to be a large cat.

"The Ministry has fallen." Ron didn't see the creature's mouth move, but Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus spoke with its master's deep, grave voice. "Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

* * *

**Note: I enjoy filling in the blanks every now and then, and since it's coming up to exam time, what better way to procrastinate than by filling out the little part of **_**Deathly Hallows**_** where Ron pulls Hermione away to dance? I hope you liked it, and feedback is always appreciated! **

**(I have, vaguely, plans for a second chapter for this… but we'll see how I go)**

**Thanks for reading,  
Lexie**


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